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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24907486">Finding Hope</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/man_with_a_face/pseuds/man_with_a_face'>man_with_a_face</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout: New Vegas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ask and ye shall receive, Boys In Love, Camp Forlorn Hope, Courier Six and Boone get married after the battle, Domestic Bliss, Falling In Love, Fluff, I headcannon knights first name as william, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Knight is a mess, M/M, Mojave Outpost, Nelson (Fallout), Not Right Now, Novac (Fallout), Period-Typical Homophobia, Rare Pairings, Richards is a flirt, There will be Domestic Bliss in later chapters, They live in Novac, Well - Freeform, because forlorn hope needs so much help, but i need them to date, but soon - Freeform, i think this is the only fic for this, major knight gets transferred, makes no sense, saw a tumblr post asking for this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:27:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,732</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24907486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/man_with_a_face/pseuds/man_with_a_face</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon after the Second Battle for Hoover Dam, Major Knight is transferred to Forlorn Hope, a place still desperate for men so soon after the battle. He goes there expecting nothing more than to manage paperwork and fix equipment, but finds himself swept off his feet by Dr. Richards, who feels none of the qualms about 'friendship' that Knight feels.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Background Female Courier/Craig Boone, Major Knight/Alex Richards</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Reassignment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a little bit after the NCR has won the battle for Hoover Dam when Knight gets the orders to transfer to Forlorn Hope. Ranger Jackson hands him the wrinkled brown envelope with an apologetic smile on his face, says something about how the victory has led to an influx of all sorts of things but paperwork and stuff that needs fixing both stand high on that list, just under injured soldiers, so they need all hands on deck as things wind down and get sorted out. Knight spends the day packing what things he has from his footlocker into a military pack, his extra uniforms and set of civilian clothes folded with neat, crisp military folds, his tool set on top of them, and a bottle of his favorite wine on top of that.</p><p>The other soldiers at the Outpost throw him a little going-away party that night, and even though he doesn’t drink for fear of a hangover tomorrow morning, he enjoys himself nonetheless. Lacey gifts him with another bottle of wine, the stuff she normally can’t sell anyways, because it’s just a few caps more expensive than most Wastelanders are willing to spend, and he hugs her tight. They weren’t really close, not exactly, but they had the special sort of friendship that only one gay person could provide another, espescially in a place like the NCR, and Knight will miss that. Kilborn and Ghost are friendly, and they hug him goodbye, and while they’ve all definitely spent many a long day dealing with way too many caravaneers and other people too desperate to make their way in and out of the Mojave, Knight wouldn't venture so far as to call them friends.</p><p>Knight sets out early the next day, his boots heavy on the pavement as he weaves between cars on his way to Nipton. The way down was much safer after Six had wiped out the ant’s nest a few months back, and Nipton, while not recovering or becoming a real town again (And Knight suspected that it would always be regarded as a sort of ghost town, forever haunted by blood and smoke and Legion like so much of the Mojave was), was slowly being cleared of corpses and fires, with a small NCR outpost being set up there to help ferry traffic from the Outpost deeper into the Mojave and help manage Primm when needed. Camp Nipton, it was called, or Outpost Nipton, he was pretty sure, but couldn’t really be bothered to remember which.</p><p>His boots start crunch sand and gravel underfoot, and the heat of the sun really starts to hit him as he reaches the main road, the husk of the old Viper ambush point rising as he gets closer, the taller walls from the building on his left casting long shadows as the sun slowly tracks its way up the horizon. He passes through Nipton without much trouble, and curves up the road, stumbling a bit over the train tracks and admiring the tall desert walls as he passes through them. A ranch rises in the distance, and he turns past it and makes his way up a curve to an old overpass. Novac awaits him further down the road, and from there, further on until he hits the retaken Nelson (now being expanded into by Forlorn Hope), and then the command tent. With any luck, he should be at the command tent before noon and working for at least a good couple hours before nightfall. Maybe he can even imbibe in a bit of celebration wine, before things get too overwhelming. </p><p>Novac’s distinctive dinosaur rose on the horizon from between the hills well before the rest of the town, and by the time Knight had stopped in front of the gate of the motel, he was panting and hungry, and sweat ran down his back and forehead in thick rivulets. He was definitely feeling what felt like years of deskwork now, as he caught his breath in front of the town. Knight shakily unlatched the gate when he felt like the sweat was drying a bit and the dizziness was leaving his system, heading for the dinosaur he was fairly certain had a shop inside. As he made his way around the tail, legs feeling heavy, someone burst out of the shop excitedly and nearly rolled him over, arms tangling in his as she rolled down the stairs and he rolled his head right into the wall of the house directly adjacent to the dinosaur. Knight winced and the person on top of him gasped excitedly.</p><p>“Major Knight? Mojave Outpost? Is that <em> you </em>?”</p><p>Knight blinked for a moment at the person above him… Thin, wispy brown hair in a messy bun, black cowboy hat, and white-brimmed sunglasses. Knight nearly choked when he realized who it was, adrenaline thundering through his veins as excitement and embarrassment overtook him in equal lengths. “Ah… Six?”</p><p>She grinned and the guy who had come out after her, someone with old NCR survival gear and a first recon beret, helped tug her out of the mess of limbs. After they had both stood up and dusted off, Six had laughed and shook his hand, talking excitedly to the guy-Boone-that he had pretty much fixed up all of her gear when she was first starting out, and how nice he was, and how she really ought to have given him a visit after Hoover Dam to make sure her second-favorite repairman was okay (the last part was directed at him, and it turned out her first-favorite repairman was a ghoul who was also her abuelo).</p><p>“So,” she had gushed, leaning against one of the wooden poles that held the stairs up, “What brings you to Novac?”</p><p>Knight shrugged, trying his damndest not to look as uncomfortable and awkward as he was feeling at the moment. “Got orders to reassign to Forlorn Hope. They need a repairman and someone who’s good with paperwork, both talents which I have in spades. I was only stopping by to get some food on my way…” He tried to worm his way out of the conversation that way, but when Boone sent him a thin, sympathetic smile, he realized it wasn’t going to be that easy.</p><p>Six had nodded emphatically as if he hadn’t just told her one of the most boring sentences to ever be spoken on Mojave soil, and she offered to buy him a molerat steak in return for an update on the outpost. Knight checked the time on her Pip-Boy before accepting, eating his molerat in record time (he hadn’t really realized how hungry he was, especially since he had skipped breakfast), and tells her about Lacey and Jackson and what the roads are like after she’s cleared them. Boone asks about Ghost and says something about having shared a few sniper stories with her, and he gives him the best update he can on a woman he barely even knows. Six sends him down the road with a wide grin and Boone somehow hanging on her arm, having Knight promise to her that he’ll visit again when he has leave.</p><p>As he heads up the hill, he wonders if the Courier really is that lonely, that she’d have him promise that, or if she really cares as much as the stories say, getting to know every wastelander she can to the best of her ability and helping them even when it proves a detriment to her. It’s almost hard to believe that the excitable woman standing by the foot of the dinosaur is the same one who defeated Lanius in combat and nearly single-handedly saved the Mojave.</p><p>Knight pauses when he sees the rotting Legion corpses, red fabric dissolving into the sands that are slowly burying them before he remembers that the dinosaur serves as more than just a general store.</p><p>The roadstop ahead of him is staffed with more than a handful of NCR soldiers and at least one Ranger from what he can see from down the road, and he wonders if it was staffed the same amount before the Second Battle, and how many men died for even those three Legion corpses to have been half sticking out of the sand. He huffs to a stop when the Ranger approaches him, focusing on catching his breath without embarrassing himself too much. The Ranger takes the brown envelope from him and looks over the orders.</p><p>“Mojave Outpost, huh? Guess that's why it doesn’t seem like you walk much.” The Ranger smiles friendlily at Knight as he hands him the papers back. Knight flushes and looks up at the Ranger, doing his best to approximate a casual smile. “Yeah, I guess.” He hopes it comes off joking and not hardass.</p><p>He’s past the barricade, further down the road, and right then his backpack straps start to really dig into his shoulders, and he tries not to be acutely aware of the clinking of the wine bottles and tools in his pack. He’s an NCR Major, goddammit, and he’ll try his hardest not to look like some rookie soldier, too nervous to talk properly on his first day in any sort of camp.</p><p>He’s directed to a small barracks in Nelson when he shows his paper to another Ranger further down, and he sets his pack down on the bunk he’s been assigned before he makes his way past the former minefield and up a steep set of wooden stairs forced into the side of the hill, squeezing his way between tents and shacks before the green command tent is before him, its tin door all that stands between him and starting in his new post. Knight takes a breath to steady himself before starting up the steps, only to find himself being crashed into for the second time that day, and he knows he’s short and a bit unassuming, but <em> really </em> ? Knight lets out a startled sound as the man in front of him grabs him and steadies them both in one smooth movement, and <em> god </em> , Knight really shouldn’t be looking at any man’s shoulders like that, especially not at a new position, <em> especially </em> not when he’s still trying to pretend it's not a public secret he’s a confirmed bachelor, but god, they’re firm and wide and, and. And then the guy in front of him smiles warmly and makes no secret of looking Knight up and down.</p><p>“I’m sorry for the clumsiness, but I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face. What can I do for you, my fine dear?”</p><p>And Knight nearly dies then and there, has a heart attack, makes his grave and lies down in it, because he must be dead and in heaven, or maybe even hell, because there’s about as much hope as a baby surviving a cazador nest as there is that he’s being flirted with, openly, <em> by a man </em> , and by a <b> <em>handsome</em> </b> one, at that. </p><p>Knight gulps nervously. “I, ah, nothing, just, well, I’m Major William Knight.” The words come tumbling out faster than he can help them and he tries his damndest not to become a blushing mess like a little girl talking to her schoolyard crush. Goddamn, the one thing he was good at was keeping composure no matter what, and here he was, practically stuttering in front of someone who could be a commanding officer.</p><p>“Well, William, I’m Alex Richards, the doctor of this fine establishment. Should you find yourself in need of some… medical care, my little buttercup, don’t hesitate to drop by.” And Dr. Richards <em> fucking winks </em> at Knight, and his stomach drops into his knees, all fluttery and nervous and lovely, and Richards gently relinquishes his grip on Knight’s forearms, and Knight mourns the loss as Richards makes his way back to his tent.</p><p>He takes a deep breath and forces his fluttering heart to calm down, his legs unsteady beneath him, and checks around him to make sure nobody saw or heard. He wouldn’t be opposed to a ‘friendship’ with the doctor, not by a long shot, but hell, <em> hell </em> if he wasn’t terrified of the possible repercussions of such a thing. <em> Deep breaths, Knight, deep breaths </em>, he reminds himself, forces the flush from his face, and slides the tin door from its entryway to meet whoever is going to be giving him orders here.</p><p>The tent is bustling with activity, two men at tables in the center of the tent delegating to a small crowd around them and looking over papers, several soldiers looking through cabinets and running back and forth to give them whatever papers the men need, and there are three soldiers stand at a radio station to his left, receiving and sending out transmissions, taking down notes. Everyone is busy, and he suddenly understands just how much Forlorn Hope probably needs him, looking simultaneously over and understaffed in that uniquely NCR way. One of the men giving orders looks up, notices him and waves him over, shoving over a few books to find a paper in the stacks as Knight rushes over to him.</p><p>“I’m Major Polati. You Major Knight?”</p><p>Knight nods and takes the papers handed to him, a roster of broken equipment, guns, general supplies, tools, and uniform pieces, nearly four pages front and back of reports describing broken bolts, cracked fiberglass, and missing screws nobody has had the time or energy to replace, because it was never really important enough.</p><p>“Good. Quartermaster Carl Mayes is in the tent across from ours, he’ll help you get any tools you need to make repairs and help you go through that list. Good luck.”</p><p>Knight nods, decides against saluting an officer who’s the same rank as him, before he’s pushed back out of the throng of people, and stumbles out of the tent, reading the lines of equipment and trying to organize them in his head by ease and importance, so he knows what he needs to fix first before he asks Mayes for what supplies he’ll need. One entry catches his attention, if only because of the name attached to it, as well as the uniqueness of the part:</p><p>Malfunc. Biometric Scanner, Auto-Doc MkIII. Doc. Richards. Med tent. Req: Fiberglass, asbestos, nuclear.</p><p>He rolls it over in his mind. He’s only worked with medical technology once, when he was just starting out in the NCR, and knew his propensity for repairs but not how useless he could be when it came to a scalpel. Replacing an Auto-Doc part, especially one so complicated, would probably take him months just to find the right components for. Fiberglass could probably be scavenged from any old world technology, and the asbestos might be a bit of an issue, but would be easy enough to find with enough vigilance on his part. The nuclear material needed to power the part would probably pose the biggest issue, needing the right containment and shielding, not to mention how hard it would be to work with the stuff.</p><p>Knight shoves the concern somewhere into the back of the to-do list in his mind and steps into Mayes’ tent, a few more important and easier to manage parts marked to do first in his mind. Mayes looks up when he steps in and they both attempt thin smiles at each other, Mayes too tired and Knight too anxious for either of them to really pull it off.</p><p>“You here to fix the broken equipment?” Knight nods and Mayes sighs, shuffles through a pile of what Knight recognizes as requisition papers, and hands him a thick stack of them. “Ask for any supplies you may need with these, but be frugal. We only have so much stuff to go around, and we can’t waste every roll of duct tape fixing guns and armor.”</p><p>Knight nods again and shuffles the papers so he has the list of broken equipment held out to Mayes. “I’m good at making too little supplies last, especially for stuff like this. I’ve got some of my own equipment, and I’ve already looked through what repairs look most important, and manageable.” Knight feels more confident like this. Work is what he’s good at, what he excels in, and the idea of repairing things honestly makes him at least a little excited. He wouldn’t have gotten so good at the skill if he hadn’t genuinely enjoyed it, the feeling of taking things apart and putting them back together again, tiny pieces and large being replaced until something broken fit together into a cohesive, useful whole.</p><p>Mayes looks pensive as Knight starts to point out various things that could probably be easily fixed with a small screw, or some adhesive, or a bit of oil. Mayes relaxes a bit as he talks, nods and tells Knight to fill out forms for whatever parts he needs, take them from the supply, and Mayes will compare inventory and parts at the end of the day. There’s an obvious threat of ‘<em> And if anything goes missing… </em>’ hangin in the air that Knight doesn’t need, he couldn’t imagine stealing from a place so already strapped for parts like Forlorn Hope, also just anything NCR, period.</p><p>The afternoon passes surprisingly quickly, Knight picking his toolbox from his bunk and passing the rest of the day between the storage shed and Mayes’ tent. Some things are too far damaged to be repaired and still have anything left over for other things, but the parts are still mostly whole, if not good, and can be used for more broken down than whole. NCR makes a point of recycling everything that they can, and a good repairman at a base can be a lifesaver, especially when soldiers are short on supplies or tight on budget, both of which are all too common. Knight supposes that as things broke down, nobody really knew how to repair them, and they were left in storage or other places in the hopes that someday somebody would be able to recycle them.</p><p>As he packs his tools, the sun stretches into an orange oval against the horizon, and he has a stack of various guns, armor bits, and containers that are now in working condition in front of him, as well as a small, organized stack of requisition forms. He organizes what he’s fixed as best he can in the mess that is the equipment shed, and the forms get neatly stacked on Mayes’ desk before dinner is yet served. Knight has made a good bit of progress for the day-It’s not much, compared to how much is on the list, but baby steps are still worth something-and decides to explore the camp a bit. There were living shacks, a mess hall, officers tent, and as he loops around, a medical tent with a big metal plus out front.</p><p>There’s still quite a bit of injured, Caesar’s remaining forces still active, but they’re more like small guerilla groups at this point, attacking various NCR holding points under cover of night or dust storms before quickly retreating. It’s still not nearly as bad as it was before the second battle, though, with the forces as disconnected as they are, and the attacks whittle more off of the Legion remnants than they do the NCR. <em> The Auto-Doc could still be really useful </em>, Knight reasons with himself as he stands before the thin door, weighing his options and wondering if going in is worth the risk.</p><p>He decides it is, and pushes the door open before he can talk himself back out of the decision he’d just made.</p><p>Richards is in the corner looking over one of the patients and hasn’t looked back at the door yet, and Knight can see the Auto-Doc where it’s been shoved up between a partition and the tent wall near the surgery area. Its arms are folded up tightly to the metal body, and he bets they’ve also probably begun rusting. Knight suddenly realizes he doesn’t really know what to do with his hands in the awkward moment before Richards sees him, and his hand clenches and unclenches on his toolbox handle. He wonders if Richards was playing him for a fool this morning, seeing an obviously gay man and being disgusted to the point of toying around with him, or if he wasn’t at the time, but he’ll turn around and see Knight and react with disgust, realize what Knight really looks like, or become too nervous about how open he was, and not talk to him at all about it.</p><p>Knight isn’t certain which would be worse, or better, Richards flirting with him or not, but resolves that if Richards doesn’t bring it up, he’ll do his best to return the favor and simply file the moment away for a particularly sad, lonely night.</p><p>And then Richards stands from the soldier he’d just put to sleep with a dose of Med-X, the only other man in the tent, asleep (thank god), and he smiles so <em> brightly </em>, Knight knows instantly he wasn’t being played with. He wasn’t certain how to handle that.</p><p>“There’s my little buttercup. What can I do for you.”</p><p>Knight knows he’s blushing but tries to pretend he isn’t, tries to play it off like he isn’t already desperately head over heels for Richards, having only talked to the man twice. He shrugs to really try and play off the casualness. “I saw on the list of repairs needed that you had a broken biometric scanner, and decided to come examine it, even if I probably couldn’t fix it yet.” Knight is good at that, at playing calm and collected when he really isn’t, anxiety hidden behind the mask of Major Knight he pulls over his face.</p><p>Richards' smile warms and he sets one hand on the small of Knight’s back, guiding him gently over to the Auto-Doc like the most casual thing in the world, like Knight isn’t going insane at how casual Richards manages to be about something that’s considered so shameful.</p><p>Knight takes the case that forms the scanner and operating part off of the stand, and carefully disconnects the wires and delicate armature connecting the controls to the four operating arms. </p><p>The biometric scanner is nestled in the tangle of wires, and as he disconnects it, he can mark several more broken pieces and burnt out wires that’ll also need replacing, but nothing that’ll be so difficult as the biometric scanner. He can probably start on that as more standard repairs, and it would probably be best to do those on his own time, as the Auto-Doc can’t even function yet, and he’d be better off fixing a gun or chestplate. Knight guesses he’ll probably be in the doctor’s office a lot, if only to look over his Auto-Doc.</p><p>Richards hovers above him as he takes the casing apart, eyes bright, so he starts explaining what he’s doing to fill the silence, babbling about how he’s always liked working on Auto-Docs, even though he’s only ever really worked on one, and begin spouting what he remembers from the manuals he’s read, that these MkIII’s always tend to fully shut down if even one non-necessary component goes out, but at least it’s better than the MkI’s, which are nearly impossible to repair and keep operational, their parts so desperately rare and fragile that you’d probably be better off giving a bonesaw to a fire gecko, and when he says that, Richards chuckles, and his heart flutters at the sound.</p><p>Maybe Forlorn Hope won’t be so bad after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know that I haven't updated Banner of the Bull for a bit, but I probably will soon-I've been struggling with depression and motivation lately, and I only expect this to be a couple chapters to get my feet wet again. I know this is, like, the rarest of pairs, but I just love both these characters so much it seemed perfect.</p><p>Kudos and comments always appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Sunrise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Knight begins his second day at Forlorn Hope, tries (and fails) not to be anxious, and realizes that maybe he and Richards have a place for each other.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Knight wakes up well before the rest of the camp, when an idle twilight still casts its spell over the Mojave, and everything seems quiet and still before anything has a chance to wake up. He remembers hearing once, from a soldier passing through back home with only one leg, that this was the Legion’s favorite time of day to fall onto unsuspecting camps, silently killing nighttime watches at the end of their shift, slaughtering NCR soldiers in their beds before they’d had a chance to awaken, but he had a much different reason for habitually waking up before the sun: traders. They get up early to make the most of the daylight trading hours, and if the Mojave Outpost were to remain manageable, he had to wake up well before they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks himself awake, yawning and stretching, turning silently out of bed to stand as he cracks his neck. One of his uniforms is retrieved from his footlocker, and he makes his way to the restrooms at the end of the bunkhouse so he can splash his face with water while he tries to wake up. Being silent is a skill he’d learned a long time ago, and one that had served him well ever since, so the slumbering soldiers on either side of him didn’t stir as he makes his way past them. Knight would have to try and double his labor today so he could get permission from Mayes to head down the road back to Novac, as he’d heard some sort of rumor about old rocket toys with a radioactive agent in them, and it was a lead worth checking out for the sake of the Auto-Doc.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He splashes his face with a bit of water and crosses his fingers that it isn’t too badly irradiated, then begins methodically buttoning his sand-brown button up, going over what he plans on doing first in his head. If Mayes isn’t up, he can grab his tools and fix what easy repairs he hadn’t gotten around to yesterday, and if he was, Knight could grab a stack of requisition forms from him so he could double-check what parts an old camp generator marked in the papers needed. If everything was in the shack, he could get started on that right away, but if not he’d have to wait a few days as parts came in. Maybe in the afternoon, if he managed to wrap up work early, he could help Mayes get through the mountain of paperwork stacked precariously on his desk. Paperwork always was his specialty, staying up late to cross every t and cross every i. Part of why Ranger Jackson loved him so much, really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he tightens the leather straps on his chest piece, he looks over at himself in the cracked, stained bathroom mirror. He looks tired, above all else. Wrinkles etch his features and his skin is grayer than he’d like it to be, kept sullen despite the Mojave sun by being kept behind a desk so often. Knight looks like how he feels, or at least what others assume of him-A sad, tired, old man. At least he doesn’t look anxious. Affixing his tan beret onto his head, he stares at himself resolutely. He isn’t as tired or sad as he looks and feels, and he can get done what needs to get done. That should be enough. It never really feels like it is, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps out of the bathroom, grabs his toolbox out from underneath his bunk, and gently opens the door so its ancient hinges don’t scream as he exits. He should probably oil that, one of these days. It’s cool out, without the sun beginning to beat down onto the sands, and everything is quiet. Knight takes a deep breath of the cool morning air, and starts on his way to Forlorn Hope, taking the stairs two at a time. Everyone is still asleep this early, just like he’d expected, and he slips a hand into his pocket to grab the key for the supply shed as he approaches it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His pocket is empty, and so is every other pocket as he pats himself down, and his toolbox has nothing but tools, every little compartment devoid of a key of any type. He could easily pick the lock to the shed door, but that really isn’t the point, the point is that he lost the goddam key to the supply shack on his second day. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How much more incompetent can you get</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he berates himself, shakily setting the toolbox down next to the door, focusing on deep breaths and mentally retracing his steps from last night. He’d had his key on him as he’d walked the camp, and had double checked his pockets after dinner in the mess hall, and the only other place he’d been had been- Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight must’ve left the keys at the medical tent, the only place where he’d relaxed and forgotten to double check his pockets last night. He’d have to go to the medical tent. And maybe see Dr. Richards, and then go through the rest of the day awkward and easily embarrassed. It wasn’t really a question, though, he’d much rather that than look like an idiot immediately at a new post. First impressions were everything, after all, but they could easily be undone with one big misstep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checks the empty camp around him nervously as he makes his way to the tent, and then chides himself for making it look more suspicious than it is. Knight pauses at the door, wondering for a moment if he should knock, then deciding against it. Waking a sleeping, injured soldier would just be plain rude. He pushes the door open, and is surprised to see Richards already inside, leaning over one of his patients and talking to them gently, saying something and mimicking something with his hands. The kid nods, and Knight sort of sidesteps near the surgery area, looking at the ground near the Auto-Doc for his key. Nothing. The table brings similar results, as does the little caddy of medical supplies near that. He could check the desk, but that might look too close to stealing if Richards were to catch him, so he resigns himself to stand by the entrance while Richards talks to his patient so he can ask. Richards finishes talking with the kid, double checks his clipboard, and then dopes him up with Med-X before he turns to the door and finally notices Knight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there’s that smile again, not the grin from yesterday, but the one he uses more often, small and tired and sad with just enough happiness in it to be sincere. Or maybe Knight is reading too much into what the smile means, but he likes it either way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone’s up early. What can I do for you, my fine dear?” He lights a cigarette as he talks, leaning against the frame of one of the empty beds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight chuckles awkwardly. “Habit from the Outpost, I suppose. It just seems I lost my storage key, and the last place I was last night was with you, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richards nods. “Yes, I think I remember where I put that…” He trails off and rests his still-lit cigarette in one of the many ashtrays scattered throughout the tent, shuffling through the overstuffed, unorganized drawers of his desk for the key before pulling it out triumphantly. “Sorry, I was planning on bringing it to you when you got up, and assumed you wouldn’t be up this early.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tension rushes from Knight's body and he grabs the key, turning it over in his hands before he tucks it safely into his pocket, where he can feel it rest against his leg through the thin fabric. He’s fine. He didn’t embarrass himself in front of Mayes, or Polati. Knight smiles gratefully up at Richards. “It’s fine! I’m just glad I didn’t really lose my key on my first day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richards chuckles and picks his cigarette back up, inhaling deeply. He looks stressed, more so than the night before. Knight fiddles with his hands and thinks about leaving the tent, before asking, “Do you think I could help you organize all that paperwork? It’s something I’ve gotten fairly good at, and you look like you’re too busy to go through all that at the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richards seems surprised before half a second before he slips back into his slight smile. “I could use help with a few… things… other than paperwork, buttercup, if you’re up to it?” And then he </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking winks</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Knight, tapping the ash of his cigarette into his ashtray.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight gulps, and feels a surge of confidence surge through him, and he grabs it by the reins, refusing to let something like this pass him by, refusing to let himself be stifled by fear and disgust with himself if only for a moment. “I’d love to help you organize a few other things, Alex.” He focuses the stream of confidence and winks right back at Richards, a small, matching smile making its way onto his face as he loses sensation in his toes, his heard hammers against his ribcage, and moisture gathers in the palms of his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he’s out of the medical tent, hands shaking and face hot, and he fumbles the key for far too long when he gets to the supply shed, wondering what he just got himself into as the key slides home in the lock. The pile of broken service rifles still sits where he’d left it last night, the armor pieces neatly wedged between a gun cabinet and the wall, and he sinks down into the dirt to catch his breath and calm his racing heart and shaking hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he can’t believe he just did that, agreed to meet in Richards tent that night, to, presumably, do </span>
  <em>
    <span>less than clandestine</span>
  </em>
  <span> things with a guy he had just met. Knight resolves that, if he could hold it together next time he talked to Richards, he’d ask him about himself. Knight doesn’t want this to just be a ‘benefits’ thing between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets back up shakily, taking a deep breath in and out, calms down a bit, and starts on the rifles. Service rifles are simple and easy, one of the things that broke down more commonly at the Outpost, something he had repaired so many times he could practically do it without thinking. It's calming to have something to do with his hands, and he welcomes the distraction as he watches the sun through the slightly propped open door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it’s sufficiently bright out, he stands and dusts off his lap, grease and oil staining his hands and clothes. Knight sighs, he hates the hassle of washing his uniform, but it looks like it’ll be unavoidable with all the repairs he’s doing. Mayes is in his tent and brightens a bit when Knight greets him, digging for a fresh stack of requisition forms and handing them to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure how you did it, but your forms were damn near perfectly filled out. Barely even had to check them before turning in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight nods. “I’ve filled out many a requisition form in my day, it must be said-And speaking of my proficiency with paperwork, I was wondering if you’d like some help after lunch going through that pile of yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mayes chuckles and Knight feels a burst of pride. Impressing bosses and hard work was how he’d gotten this far, and he knew the strategy wouldn’t fail him yet. “That sounds fine, Knight. I’ll be working all through the day though, so could you bring me a ration from the canteen? Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight heads out of the tent feeling a bit lighter and more secure, he always hates how new assignments make him feel out of sorts and slightly off kilter, but he’s adjusting fast and glad for that fact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tucks the forms under his arm, checks he made sure to pick up a pen in Mayes’ office, and ducks between the tents so he can crawl underneath the far watchtower and dredge the broken-down generator out of the dirt. By the time the generator has been pulled out into a patch of flat, clear earth, Knight is panting and covered in dirt, and decides immediately upon seeing the generator that the problem was probably a lot worse than the papers had made it seem, probably made worse by being half-buried for a little over a year. Forlorn Hope technically has enough power to go around, especially with connections to the Dam being built, but backup generators never hurt anyone, and leaving such a valuable thing rot in the dirt would feel downright wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spends the better half of two hours taking the generator apart and going over what's broken or missing, what he can repair or clean for now, and what absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> be replaced before he can even think of trying to run the generator again. He scrawls the list on the back of one of the forms and tucks that into his pocket next to the key. He balances the other forms on his thigh and begins filling out forms for cheaper parts and things he knows are in the shed already. God, his schedule is downright crammed for today, if he wants to do everything he’d set out to do this morning. Paperwork with Mayes should only take four hours, max, and if it goes over that, he’ll politely excuse himself. Novac is only a half hour or so down the road, and (adding time for Six to accost him with a host of questions), he should be back around five or maybe six at the latest. Plenty of time after that to wash himself a bit, hide a bottle of wine in his toolbox, and change into a considerably less dirty uniform. Arriving for dinner, if that’s what they were doing, at seven sounded like a fairly reasonable goal to set for himself, he decides, and pieces the generator back together as quickly as he can so nothing gets lost, pops over to the mess to grab two lunches for himself and the quartermaster (mole rat, maize, and a can of purified water, one of his person favorites), and balances one plate on top of the stack of forms so he can comfortably make his way back to the tent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mayes is at his table, chewing on the blunt end of a short pencil, his brows furrowing at what looks like a spectacularly badly filled out personal inventory form. Knight sets Mayes’ plate down in front of him along with a fork, places his paperwork on top of the ‘Incoming’ basket for Mayes to sign, and grabs a stool so he can sit across the table from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mayes sighs and takes a bite off the mole rat skewer, running a hand through his hair and handing Knight the paper as he chews. “I can’t make heads nor tails of this one, care to take a crack at it?” Knight takes a bite of some corn and nods, taking the paper in hand. Jesus. It’s barely legible, half soaked in now-dried mud, and crinkled so badly what </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>legible is nearly beyond recognition. It’s also somehow not the worst filled out form he’s seen in his day, so he pulls the pen from his pocket and grabs a clean form, transferring what he can from one to another. The biggest puzzle is probably whoever this belongs to, because once he figures that out, he’s gonna sit them down and force them to fill out forms until they collapse from exhaustion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mayes is sorting through various things as Knight works, and a good hour passes without incident (the personal inventory form eventually gets set aside, he can crack it later, it’s not the most important thing to be working on) when Mayes speaks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I don’t mean to pry, and by all means, you can ignore me, but are you a, y’know… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bachelor</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The insinuation is obvious, and Knight nearly knocks over the stack of forms he’s sorting through. “I, ah, what would ever give you that idea?” He hopes his voice isn’t as pinched as it sounds to his ears, that Mayes is just fucking around or something, because, shit, it’s only his second day, he doesn’t want to have to deal with this with a complete stranger (much less anyone else, but still).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mayes shrugs and transfers another paper to the ‘Outgoing’ basket, grabbing one out from the stack Knight is standing over. “I just saw how you were talking to Richards the other day. I’m not gonna, judge you or anything, just figured it was worth asking.” Knight nods, pretends to look for a specific paper again, and hopes Mayes will drop the subject, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you never know</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Mayes could have every reason in the world to blackmail him with something like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I know some people get pretty angry about that sort of thing, but I never really got that. Love who you’re gonna love, you know? So long as you can get your work done, that is.” Mayes laughs and it takes Knight a beat to realize that Mayes is trying to make him feel comfortable, of all things, attempting banter to calm him down and defuse the situation. Knight nods, looks down at the stack of papers, clenches and unclenches his hands. He looks over his shoulder at Mayes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t tell anyone?” His voice is softer than he’d like, and he didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but that can’t be helped now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mayes looks a bit surprised for a second, but nods. “Of course not. I get how that can ruin the reputation of a guy who doesn't deserve it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight smiles gratefully, and then they return to work. There aren’t any more hell forms, and everything runs smoothly as they succeed together in making a not insubstantial dent in the pile. Knight checks Mayes’ watch once he declares them finished, and when the time reads a bit after four, sighs in relief. Mayes approves him going to Novac, and he drops his toolbox off back at the bunkhouse before making his way up the road, the dinosaur standing tall on the horizon, its shadow stretched long across the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Six isn’t anywhere to be found when he stops at the chain link gate, but whether that’s luck or not has yet to be determined. This time, he makes his way up the stairs without incident, and Cliff Briscoe greets him with a wide smile and gushes something about the old T-Rex souvenirs he has. Knight deflects from buying a souvenir (He hadn’t even brought any caps with him, because he was just asking about something, no plans to buy anything), and asks about the rocket toys he had heard about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cliff looks shocked, then smiles, excited somebody </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> wants to buy the toys he has in stock. Knight talks prices for a bit before he leaves town, Cliff a bit dejected at having not sold anything, but excited at the prospect of clearing any amount of souvenirs from his storage room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight is keeping time better than he expected-He gets back to Nelson a touch after 5:30, and grabs his toolbox (tucking a bottle of wine into it), a spare uniform, and a precious bar of soap that he’s been hoarding and rationing for what must be years now, only using it on nice occasions and for the occasional inspection. ‘Nice occasion’ usually meant hookups, though, when he’d had a chance to prepare beforehand, and he supposed that now was no different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight cleans up in the bathroom, hunched over the sink as he rubs water into the soap and scrubs/rinses himself a bit at a time, looking nervously back at the bathroom door as he goes. Washing his legs is always a bit of a challenge, but years of washing in less-than-optimal conditions means he’s basically mastered it. His dirty uniform is gently folded (he only has three, so no matter how dirty it is, there’s no way he’s going to risk damaging it) and set on the bathroom floor and he hurries into the cleaner one, taking a moment to appraise himself in the bathroom mirror and adjust his beret a bit before shoving his other uniform back into the footlocker and making his way up into Forlorn Hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels clean and good-looking, the lines of his uniform not exactly crisp, but as clean as he can hope for them to get. The wine in his toolbox clinks loudly to his ears, and he’s a bit scared someone will stop him and ask him why he has a bottle poorly hidden in his tools, why he looks so clean, what he’s up to. Nobody does, though, and Knight feels the anxiety in his stomach come to a boil once again as he stops at the medical tent’s door. He’s done this so often in the last 48 hours he wants to kick himself for stopping in front of the door again, stumbling over some inscrutable doubt that refuses to allow him to follow through what he really wants to do, a stray branch that tangles his boots and tells him that maybe he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> just as filthy as his father had always said he was, maybe he isn’t worthy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his father is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s a Major in the NCR, great with his hands, a master when it came to paperwork and filing (that one was either amazing or decidedly unimpressive, depending on who you asked), and was so close to begin courting a handsome doctor who seemed genuinely kind and interested and him, and the personality hidden under the onion-skin of public persona seemed like something Knight would legitimately enjoy getting to know. So he raps gently on the door of the tent, not wanting to disturb the doctor if he’s too busy to answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at the door for a moment and ponders the potential consequences of just barreling into the tent, and decides it's probably not worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand comes down on Knight's shoulder and he nearly jumps out of his skin, toolbox clattering, and he has to force down the need to double check that his wine hasn’t broken in an effort to look casual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I wasn’t in my tent, buttercup. Did you have to wait long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tension flows out of Knight as he turns to see Richards, who has a surprisingly clean white shirt on, a small smile making its way onto his face. “No, don’t worry about it- I assume you were cleaning up or something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richards nods and takes him under his arm, guiding him to a small shack east of the medical tent, one he hadn’t noticed before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cooked us dinner!” Richards says, his pride and excitement visible on his face as he opens the door for Knight, who ducks under his arm and into the shack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not very large inside, just a small table with two chairs, his bed, a footlocker, and a stack of books he’s using for a nightstand to hold a lamp and an ashtray-He must’ve borrowed the mess hall to cook. Said dinner is on the table, what looks like gecko stew, and Knight awkwardly sets his toolbox down to retrieve his (luckily) undamaged bottle of wine. “I brought us wine!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Richards smiles fondly and locks his door behind them, grabbing two cans out of the footlocker for them to drink the wine out of. “That’s very kind of you. Where’d you get it from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight sets the wine on the table so Richards can pour them both a glass, sits in the nearest chair, and wipes his wet palms on his uniform pants, shrugging. “Going-away gift from a friend at my last posting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richards nods and sets a can in front of each of them, and Knight will </span>
  <em>
    <span>swear</span>
  </em>
  <span> that in the dim lighting of the shed, he can just barely see his hands shaking. It’s a bit comforting, a reminder that Richards, despite all his confidence and charisma, is just as nervous and human as Knight feels about this ‘date’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting across from Knight, Richards picks up his spoon and looks at Knight expectantly as he tries his first bite of stew. Holy shit. Knight nearly moans when as he chews the tender gecko meat, just spicy and creamy enough, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually fucking spiced</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s pretty sure he tastes fucking salt, a badly hyperinflated rarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit, Alex, you don’t even have to flirt with me anymore, I think I’d date you just for this stew alone.” Knight nearly kicks himself for saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>date</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Richards grins and starts to eat as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy now, buttercup. I might think you’re only dating me for my absurd good looks and cooking abilities, and not my amazing personality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight laughs and takes another bite, then a sip of wine to wash it down. “I just might, Alex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They eat for a bit like that, just joking back and forth and eating Richards’ ungodly good stew. Richards has taken their bowls and set them aside by the nightstand, and now they’re chatting by the table, passing the wine back and forth as they slowly drain the bottle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight has just enough wine in him to feel a bit tipsy when he finally feels confident enough to ask Richards more about his past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” he leans over the table, resting his chin on his arm so he can comfortably look up at Richards, playing with the rim of his can, “What made you join up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richards sips his wine and shrugs, looking contemplative for a moment. “I was always a doctor, even back in California, and one day I got suckered into the military because it was my ‘patriotic duty’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight snorts. “Tale as old as time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs before continuing, “I thought I could make the world a better place with the NCR, was really too idealistic for my own good. I don’t know now, though… Too many dead men, broken and fixed by me until they finally break down for good. I just sort of want to go home now, really only waiting for reenlistment so I can drop out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight nods. He gets that, even though he hasn’t served on any sort of front for a good while now. “I’ll probably do the same, when it comes time to reenlist, and I know the situation out here is good. Maybe I’ll open a repair shop in a small town somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richards raises an eyebrow. “No Hub or Boneyard for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs again. “Not really one for big city living, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richards nods and downs the last of his wine, setting his can on the ground by the discarded plates and pouring the last of the wine into Knight’s can. “Maybe I’d set up a practice, treating farmers and normal injuries, living off of my NCR retirement money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight takes another sip of wine and thinks about the future, what it might be like if this thing between him and Richards ever ends up working out, if they could get a nice house somewhere in the countryside, living together as ‘friends’, him repairing everyday machines more often than guns, Richards working a much less violent medical practice. They could even adopt a dog. It sounds so </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even if the fantasy is just the wine talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight looks up at Richards, who’s turned away from him to light a cigarette, and smiles warmly, stretching and cracking his neck to try and bring himself out of the fuzzy haze of being tipsy back into relative soberness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Alex…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could I, ah, stay late to help you… organize that paperwork we were talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richards turns around with a grin on his face, putting the fresh cigarette out easily. “I thought you’d never ask, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he’s across the room and they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it isn’t perfect, it’s a bit sloppy and messy, but it’s been so long, and Richards is so sweet with it, cradling Knight’s face as he pulls him into his lap to take full advantage of how much shorter than him Knight is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knight hasn’t been kissed in so long, not like this, not sweet and romantic, wine just barely fuzzing out the edge of his senses, full from a good meal, happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sends a silent thanks to whoever decided to send him here, and pulls Richards closer to him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternate summary: Knight is a gay wreck and tastes salt once before falling in love</p><p>I honestly don't plan much plot for this, I just sort of want them to date before falling into sweet domestic bliss, but if not having any drama<sup>TM</sup> would make this unreadable, please let me know!</p><p>As always, kudos and comments of any kind are appreciated and wonderful.</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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